


Does Chocolate Go With Ramen? || Yuri On Ice

by GoldStar100



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Chaos, Crack Fic, Crackhead energy, Fluff and Crack, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Let it burn, Other, WAIT WHY DOES THIS HAVE HITS?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27833284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldStar100/pseuds/GoldStar100
Summary: Yuri On Ice AU"He's awful.""He won't listen to anybody.""Barely even looks at me.""That man will never make it to the Grand Prix Finals."These had been the rumors floating around the skating world about one specific man. They said he had unimaginable talent. Every coach wanted to take him in. And so they did.They usually quit within two weeks.Nobody knew why. What this man could possibly have done to warrant such negative comments on his behalf. Nobody wanted him now; rumors only spread and lies grew."This year..." he thought, "I'm going to have to retire if I can't find a coach..."That is, until one very stubborn coach stepped in, and gave this man a chance...
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Georgi Popovich, Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Mila Babicheva & Katsuki Yuuri, Phichit Chulanont & Katsuki Yuuri
Comments: 9
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huh. I’ve never used AO3 before. This should be interesting. Anyways enjoy this total crack fic I write at 3 in the morning.
> 
> I don’t one any of the characters nor Yuri On Ice, that goes to Mappa and whoever else created it. Pls don’t come after me.

"God-DAMMIT MILA WHERE IS MY PHONE?!" A shrill squeal echoed through the rink, drawing the attention of each person towards the door. Out ran Mila, giggling maniacally as she waved a phone over her head. The smirk on her face was one that could never be trusted, and there was a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. Behind her bolted a certain blond-haired teen, face beet red to a point where it crossed the line of comical. He paused in the entranceway leading into the open room, his glare jerking side to side. It landed on the girl, and he took off once again, charging towards her like a bull. And the chase was on. Though the teen was swift on his long twink legs, Mila had experience un the art of the chase, and easily threw him off track with simple swerves and dives. Which every fall, the blond only got angrier. 

"Careful there Mila, steam might come out of his ears if you keep this up." A man called from on the ice, leaning down on the border to enjoy the show. He swished his silv—sorry, platinum bangs from their usual place covering his left eye to better take in the scene before him. The teenager didn't slow as he ran past, though this speed wasn't enough to mask him flipping off the older man. The spectator just laughed. "That's rude Yuri!" 

"SHUT UP VIKTOR YOU OLD MAN." Yuri snapped back before launching himself at the girl o nice more, only to face plant onto the ground. "Now look what you made me do!" He snapped, muffled by the grimy carpet. 

"Yakov is going to kill you guys." Viktor turned to see a man walk in bag slung over his shoulder and purple bags under his eyes. Despite his sluggish look, sweat already ran down his face and was taking deep breaths. 

"Says the guy walking in 10 minutes late." 

"Hey he's not here yet, is he?" He shot back, slumping down on a bench and letting his bag fall to the ground. He pulled out a black skate and began to pull it on but paused in his efforts. "And you're not going to tell him." It wasn't a question, and became clear by the man pointing the sharpened edge of his skate's blade at Viktor, who let out a curt chuckle. Georgi tended to be a little over dramatic bitch sometimes. Playing along, he lifted his arms up into the air. 

"Woah there I'm not a snitch." Georgi let out a groan that sounded oddly like a growl and returned to lacing up his skates. Not a moment more passed by before Viktor felt a tap on his shoulder, followed by an object being shoved into his open hand. He looked down in surprise to see a phone. 

"Take it!!" Mila panted behind him, giving the man a shove to get him going. Not a second later she was tackled to the ground. Completely startled by the situation he had just been out into, Viktor spun to see Yuri haul himself up using the border by support. 

"Viktor give me that!!" He snapped, swiping his arm out. Victor dodged the attack and backwards away from the boy, a smirk appearing on his face. 

"What's the magic word?" He teased, holding the phone out with two fingers. He fought to stifle a laugh as the teenager' s face only tensed up more. 

"Fuck you!" 

"Most definitely not." Viktor shook his head slowly, having gotten used to this kind of behavior from the boy. A loud *ding* came from the phone, the screen lighting up. "Oh look at that! You've got a message!" He pretended to look at the screen, while secretly pressing the power button to turn it off. Teasing he had no problem with; Yurio was always doing it back to him so it was considered a never-ending battle between the skaters. But invading a teenager' s privacy? Well he was no asshole. 

Though the sender's name has caught his eye before the screen went black. And though he tried to forget he had even seen it in the first place, it stemmed his attention. 

"Who's 'Teddy Bear?" 

A low growl reminded him that he was on a mission, and he snapped out of his thoughts. In a flamboyant motion, he rose the screen to his face, careful not to activate it. "Oh, lookie here! How interesting!" It took all his strength not to giggle. 

"VIKTOR I SWEAR TO GOD I'M GOING TO KILL YOU. GIVE IT BACK!!" 

"Yuri! How many times have I told you to stop swearing on me?" He whined out loud, pretended to look offended. The phone dinged once more, and Viktor spun quickly once more, closing his eyes so the message wouldn't be visible. Still this did not deter his efforts and he let out a dramatic gasp. "Oh my!!" Behind him, he heard a sigh. 

"Fine then. Please." Yuri hissed. 

"Please what?" 

"...please give me my phone back old man." 

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that last part." Viktor skated over to where Yuri was leaning so far over the border it was a miracle he had yet to fall on the ice and handed him the phone. Immediately the blond checked to see who the messages were from. Upon reading the sender's name, his face flushed crimson once more. Taking this as a confirmation that he had read the name right, the older man leaned down and whispered, 

"Who's Teddy Bear~" He was cut off as a hand covered his mouth, quite violently if I may add. Yurio hissed at him to be quiet, his face so red at this point it could have been mistaken for a ripe tomato.

"I will kill you in your sleep." He hissed in a menacing tone. Arching an eyebrow, Viktor stood up, ruffling the blond's hair. This only prompted a string of insults in Russian. 

"Try me." He muttered before skating off, leaving the boy fuming. Though at times it didn't seem like it, Yuri was like a little brother to Viktor. A grumpy angsty tiger-obsessed little brother. But a little brother none the less. And he cared for the boy. 

Of course he couldn't tell him that without risking an attack with 'knife shoes' as he liked to refer to skates. A cut would most definitely tarnish his image, especially one on his award-winning face, which he knew the teenager would likely target just to piss him off. 

"Man..." Mila pouted, having fully recovered from her tackle and made her way to the rink opening. "You could have kept it from him just a little longer..." 

"He probably would've blown a fuse ." Geoegi commented, leaning back against the border and watching the boy type away at his phone at a made pace. "Then Yakov would've killed all of us." 

"Including Viktor?" 

"Especially Viktor." 

"Hello hello I heard my name." Both of the skaters' eyes narrowed as the platinum-haired man interjected. They were used to this: the man practically had super-human hearing, a skater sense that let him know whoever he was being spoken of or even mentioned within a 5 mile radius. Some times it was useful, like when they were trying to reach the cookie jar hidden atop the lockers and Viktor was the only person tall enough to reach. Other times, such as this... well it just became annoying. 

"Screw off." Georgi muttered under his breath. The man went from high and mighty of a blubbering child in less than a milliseconds. Some may say it was faster than Chris's orga—

"Nyaaaa nobody loved me here anymore." Viktor whined, slumping down and looking like he was on the verge of a temper tantrum. At this point nobody would be surprised if he did end up throwing one. 

"Yakov does." Mila pointed out, regretting her words as the man-child shot her a look. 

"Yeah you're like his little puppy." Yuri shot from across the room. "Disobedient." 

"Whiny." 

"Too much energy."

"Not potty trained!"

"Who exactly are we talking about again?" 

"No clue." 

"I have a feeling it's not about me anymore." The older man whined, sinking to his knees. In no time, the shrill cold if the ice permeated through his pant legs and he scrambled to his feet. 

"I dunno, do you wear diapers?" 

"I'm 27 fucking years old Mila." He snapped. "What do you think the answer to that is?" 

"It's called adult diapers." 

"This conversation has slowly descended into chaos and I love it." Georgi muttered, watching the back and forth banter with an amused smirk. This earned him a glare from both skaters. "What? Just stating facts." He shrugged. "What's next, a meme war?" 

"Jesus Christ Georgi, you're older than me yet you act like a goddamn 7 year old." 

"I told you to stop referring to me as that." 

"You're not Jesus Viktor. Get that delusion out of your 3 year old head." 

"How do you know I'm not?" 

"Well for one Jesus wasn't Russian." Viktor shut his mouth, thinking. 

"...minor point." 

"Major point." 

"GUYS." All three snapped their heads around to see Yuri, who they haven't noticed had left, sprinting through the door, panting heavily. "Yakov's coming!" 

The two magic words. A trigger was pulled inside each and every single skater in that room. In a split second, the three skaters already in the ice took off, beginning to skate laps at top speed to try and build up sweat. Yuri, in the other hand, scrambled with the knife shoes in his hand, sloppily lacing one up before stumbling with the other. He didn't even bother to put on skating guards, and the second his hands dropes the lace of the second skate, he was practically tripping on the ice in an attempt to gather momentum. Though the overwhelming sound in the room was the scraping of blades against ice, they did nothing to hide the footsteps growing louder. No one dared to look at the door as it swung open, for fear the coach's eyes would turn them to stone. For a good moment, the world was silent expect for the sounds of skaters seeking to escape a good yelling at. Then...

"You are all horrible liars." The world came crashing down. All at once the athletes skidded to the stop, the sound of skates replaced by the sounds of deep panting. 

"Shit." 

Viktor was the first one to regain his composure and face the balding man. (No not himself). The man was surprisingly calm, standing up firm with crossed arms, looking grumpy as ever. The skater shot him a sheepish smile, that of which was instantly rejected with a glare. It was then that he noticed the smaller man huddled behind the coach. His head tilted to the side like a puppy as he noticed Viktor's gaze, before shooting down to the floor quickly. Smiling, Viktor made his way over to the edge of the rink where they were standing. The closer he got, the smaller the man seemed the shrink down. 

"Yakov, and who is this?" He gestured to the mystery person, flashing him a smile. It went unnoticed. In fact the mention only seemed to make him... uncomfortable. The man's head was buried into Yakov's coat, his face out of sight almost completely. Viktor's smile faded. Had he done something wrong? Yakov turned his head to peer at the man, before sighing and turning back to the taller man. 

"Gather 'round!" He called over to the other skaters, who were staring from a distance. They slowly made their way over to crowd around the two men outside of the rink. All pairs of eyes landed on the mystery man. 

"OI, whozzat?" Yurio jabbed a finger forward, scowling as Mila slapped it away. Shaking his head, Yakov stepped to the side, so the man was out into the open and without the safety of a body in front of him. It was then that the skaters got a better look at him. 

The man looked to be in his early twenties. His hair was short and black, falling just barely over his charcoal eyes. He wore light blue glasses and a long blue coat. His cheeks were surprisingly rosy, especially for having just stepped into the cold room. His gaze from behind his frames refused to leave his feet. Shuffling under the intense gazes, he fiddled with his gloved fingers. 

"I probably should have let you know about this earlier but..." Yakov drew in a sharp breath, before continuing. 

"This is your new rinkmate."


	2. Chapter 2

All four skaters blinked simultaneously, unmoving from their positions. Smart as they were, the coach's words just didn't sit right. A new rink mate? Since when? 

"And you didn't tell us about this before...why?" Yurio snapped, eyes remaining on the man. Fun fact about Yurio: he hated change. Anything that was out of his comfort zone or what he'd been used to was unwelcome in his world. And this? A new rinkmate? MASSIVE change. 

"It was a..." Yakov eyed the man next to him, as if expecting him to pop his head up and finish his answer. "...last minute decision." The man seemed to flinch at the words, gaze still fixed on the ugly blue carpet surrounding the ice. All pairs of eyes shifted to stare at him expectantly. He only seemed to shrink underneath the intense glares. 

Viktor's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to read his expression, impossible with the glasses shielding his eyes hair falling onto his face. 

"Uh...I have no problem with this but isn't he a bit...overdressed for practice?" Mila interrupted his thoughts, gesturing to the long blue coat. Yakov let out a dry chuckle, raising his eyebrows in the process. 

"He's only observing for a few hours today. Now get back to practice. I know you weren't doing it before." Yakov turned to head to the gear room, pausing for a moment to add, “and leave this man alone’ 

Of course they didn’t listen to that final request. 

Throughout the grueling training hours nobody could keep their eyes off of the man, huddled in the corner of the rink, observing their every move from under his glasses. Why? Simply because he was so mysterious. His position rarely shifted save for the repositioning of his arm or twitch of his leg. Were it not for the occasional tensing as one of the prepared for a jump he very easily could have been mistaken for a statue. 

Every once in a while, somebody would skate over to the edge of the rink to try and speak with him. Well everybody except Yurio: five minutes into the practice and he already seemed to despise the man with a burning passion. Which was to no surprise. Whenever he was spoken to the man of black hair would shrink deeper into the crook where the north wall met the east, turning his head away. At first the attempts to make him speak had been relentless, almost cooing to the man. 

As the day went on, they happened less and less. 

Viktor went over the majority of the times. He couldn't help it: the child inside of him was curious, and who was he to deny the child a chance to explore? 

"Hello!!" He waved at the man, flashing his million-dollar smile. He didn't wait for any semblance of a response to continue. "Are you new here? Wait—no, of course you are.. I mean, here? In Russia? You? New? Here?" No change. His smile ticked downward. "Not one to talk, huh?" 

"VIKTOR!! Get back here now!" His smile returning, he gave the man a wave before hurrying to the center of the rink. Still the man didn't change. 

The second time, he was more blunt. 

"You know, it's good you don't talk much." He stated in a matter-of-fact voice, leaning forward against the border. "I talk a lot, you don't. I'm tall, you're short. I have light hair, yours is dark!" He smiled, whipping his bangs. "Do you know what that means?" 

"DAMMIT VITYA STOP HARRASING THE MAN." All of the sudden, the man stood up straighter, more erect. Without another word, he turned and left. 

The third time was... strange, to say the least. 

"You...didn't let me...whew!" The platinum haired man stumbled over, hands grasping the border for support as he panted. He held a finger up for a moment as he worked to regulate his breathing. "You didn't let me finish last time!" And once again, he didn't get a chance to; as his mouth fell open to speak, something small and fast slammed into him, knocking him to the ice.

"THATS IT VIKTOR OFF THE ICE!! If you can't focus, you can't skate. Yurio! Pick yourself up, it wasn't that bad."

Which ended up with Viktor bouncing excitedly next to the man, a childish grin on his face. He was eyeing him with an expression of a little boy running down the stairs Christmas morning. It was quite terrifying. 

"...something tells me Yakov didn't think this over too well." He said, suppressing a laugh. "Anyways as I was saying before I was so very rudely interrupted, we're soulmates! I mean, they do say opposites attract!" This sparked a reaction, though it had been unpleasant by view of the man, who was currently choking on his own spit at the sudden declaration. Viktor's grin only widened. "So he is alive!! Good, I thought Yakov had suddenly gone insane and brought a statue instead. Which, I mean, the man is so old that wouldn't have been very surprising." He rambled on, eventually reaching the point where the conversation was a mixture of 'explaining the negative effects of divorce' to 'tell me, do I have a bald spot', which was all white noise in the end. 

He paused his talking suddenly, his mouth slightly ajar, halfway through saying the next word that nipped at his tongue. The gaze was fixated on nothing in particular, but the blissful silence didn't last long. Not long enough. "What's your name?" He asked suddenly, turning to face the man. Through the glasses, he could just make out the man's charcoal eyes, darting around in every direction except for towards him. "I just realized you never introduced yourself." The man didn't like talking: that much was obvious to Viktor. But a name is just two words; surely that wouldn't be too hard to do, right? So he stared, hand outstretched towards him, waiting for it to be taken. And he waited. And waited. And waited. 

When no answer came, he tucked his hand back into his pant pocket, and sighed, shaking his head. "If you don't tell me your name I'll have to come up with one for you." He said in a warning tone, with a hint of mischievousness. 

"Ooh you don't want that." Both men looked up to see Mila had skated over to the border of the rink and was leaning up against it, her chin resting on her hands. A smirk decorated her face along with the beads of sweat that dripped down her forehead. "He makes up the worst nicknames." 

"Liar!" Viktor shot back, sticking his tongue out at her. My nicknames are the best... Ketchup Packet!!" 

"Great wow, so creative. Make fun of my hair, why don't ya? You're nine years older than me, and even I have better nicknames than you." 

"Oh yeah? Try me." 

"Easy..." She paused for a moment, staring straight into the Russian's soul with an intent look on her face. "Ice Miser." 

"That sucked." 

"It did not!" 

"Yeah, it kinda did." Georgi said, as he skated up from behind Mila. His 'nickname war' tingles had been blaring at top volume, and he just had to find the source. Mostly so he could dominate the completion, as he knew he easily could. "Besides, I have a better one: Fools Gold." 

"Shit that one's good." Mila muttered, a concentrated expression falling upon her face. Viktor just looked straight up offended. 

"It is not!" He pouted, sticking his nose up into the air and crossing his arms. "And the nicknames aren't for me, they're for..." 

"I got it!" Mila exclaimed suddenly, her fist pounding into her open hand. "Icy Hot!" Everybody blinked at her, even the man, who had gotten more invested into the conversation than he'd ever like to admit. 

'"That...doesn't even make sense." 

"Sure it does! He's an ice skater, so icy. And he's hot so...hot!" 

"Hold up...you think he's hot?!"

"Shut up, Georgi, your hetero ass wouldn't understand. Besides, have you seen the man?!" She gestured over to VIktor who was happily posing and strutting his stuff to make her point. "He's practically a god!" 

"But you told me I wasn't Russina Jesus just this morning!" 

"And you still aren't, so stop bringing it up." 

"Phooey..." This conversation carried on for a while, new nicknames being thrown left and right and sticking to whomever they seemed to fit. Some of them were masterpieces of a name, rich with meaning and subtleties, like an old crisp red wine. 

Others however... 

"Clif Bar Mascot." 

...were store-bought grape juice. 

"What the actual fuck does that even imply?' Georgi snapped, a hand grasping the platform of hair that stuck out in front of his forehead as if he already knew what was about to get insulted. Mila snorted. 

"You hair!" It looks like the goddamn cliff the dude in the Clif Bar logo climbs!"

"Oh my god it does!" Viktor muttered, his eyes widening in realization. "Georgi you should call them!"

"Oh shut up, this is a beauty that none of you will understand." He said, sticking his nose up and caressing his hair.

"I'm not sure I want to understand."

As the two continued to bicker, Viktor glanced over to the man, having nearly forgotten he existed. Not much had changed about his demeanor: he was still pressed up against the corner, ever as hunched, hands crossed at his chest almost as if he were trying to give himself a hug. He was chewing away at his lower lip, so much so he was surprised he didn't chomp a big chunk out of the pink. His eyes were still glued to the floor. 

"Hey you!" Mlia piped in, slicing his observation in half. "You haven't told us your name yet!" She exclaimed just a bit too loudly, pointing at the man. "So, spill! Who are you?" It didn't surprise Viktor when he didn't say anything: he'd been taking a crack at that for the past half hour, and he was one of the most convincing people on earth, as he'd been told by countless people. If he couldn't the man to spill, nobody could. It would be a crime against humanity...and his self-esteem. 

"Come on, you can tell us!" 

"Quit harrassing the guy, jeez you're so loud!" 

"Well excuse me for trying to get to know our new rinkmate! He's gonna be training with us, right? We oughta know his name." She stopped, and shifted her glare to Viktor. He stared back, confused by the sudden shift. 

"What?" 

"You've been chatting with him for like an hour, and you didn't learn his name?!" He rolled his eyes. 

"First of all, it hasn't been over 15 minutes. Second of all, he wouldn't tell me. Which is why I was trying to come up with a nickname for him. And that was before you so rudely interrupted our conversation." 

"You mean YOUR conversation TO him, right?”

"No! We were having a very in-depth talk, weren't we?" The man didn't reply; instead his head was buried into the screen of his phone, which he'd wordlessly pulled out in the midst of the conversation. They watched as he tapped away at the device, before shoving it into his coat pocket. Without a hint of hesitation, he stood from his hunched position, and shoved his way past Viktor. He didn't get very far before a hand shot out and grasped his, tugging him back. 

"Wait...we still don't know what to call you yet!!" The man simply shrugged, turning his head away. The Russian didn't know why he had begun to hope this silent person would finally say something, nor why the salience that followed was so daunting to him. But when no reply came, he couldn't help but sigh disappointedly and let him go. 

What did excite him to no end was when the man turned around and looked up straight at him. The reflection of the lights on his glasses shielded his eyes from view, but Victor could just feel his eyes on him. So, he stared back, trying to see through into his charcoal eyes but failing miserably. The man's mouth fell open, and he took in a deep breath. 

"Here we go...he's finally going to talk..." 

And snapped it shut again. All at once, his straightened posture fell, and he snapped his head away.

Viktor's smile vanished, but not in anger. He continued staring at the man's reddening face intently, studying its every feature. 

"Mila?" He said just below a yell over his shoulder. Said girl met Goergi's equally-confused gaze, furrowing his eyebrows. The Clif Bar Mascot just shrugged. 

"Uh..yeah?" 

"Whats your favorite food again?" 

"Uhh... пирожные, why?" Viktor simply nodded at the response. A few seconds ticked by, before something inside clicked, and his eyes lit up. 

"I got it!!" In a dramatic move, he walked backwards, and pointed at the man in a flamboyant motion. "From now on, mystery name, your name will be Chocolate!! And until we figure out your real name, it will stay as such!" 

“...” 

“...”

“...” 

“...that came out louder than I thought...” 

"VIKTORRRR!!!!"

Everybody within a five mile radius jumped and turned their heads towards the man who had practically exploded. Viktor's cheery face fell slowly, soaking up the situation he was in one drop at a time. By the time he fully understood what was about to happen, he had on a plastered smile and shallow eyes. He knew he was about to get a lecture. 

The black-haired man, now coined ‘Chocolate’ took the brief moment of distraction as a chance, and slipped out of the room without so much of another sound.

He hadn’t spoken a single word all day long. 

Viktor was practically dragged by the ear to the locker room, where Yakov drilled him with a two hour long lecture about ‘personal space’ and ‘minding your own damn business’. 

Did Viktor listen to any of this? No of course not. This is Viktor after all. The one and only adult child. 

Instead he spent the entire time thinking. Thinking about that man. How he refused to say anything. How he didn’t interact and kept to himself. How he hadn’t even told him his name, which he personally found offensive. Mostly he thought about his strange cold demeanor. 

No, using the word ‘cold’ didn’t feel... right. Chocolate’s actions were like puzzle pieces; at first glance they made no sense, looked to be irregular and random. 

As he worked at that puzzle, sorting the borders from the inside pieces, they slowly clicked together. But only a small corner, a fraction of the whole picture. The others had yet to even be looked at; it wasn’t their time. 

And the word, cold? From what Viktor could see so far, the small chunk of puzzle already solved didn’t show any ‘cold’. 

It revealed fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha yeah sorry this one was rushed. The rest won’t be like this, I promise. 
> 
> Also... 
> 
> пирожные: Brownies (according to Google Translate )


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh ok what?? People are actually reading this. Ok...
> 
> That’s scary. Hi. How are you? Enjoy another chapter. 
> 
> Uhh...bye?

Viktor Nikiforov was always first.

First at competitions. First at ice skating. First at perfection. Always always first.

And this was his pride. Number one. The best. The first. This was what allowed his nose to be held high. This was the helium to his ego that people constantly tried to pop.

He was always first.

So why didn't this irk him?

_"Why am I ok with this?"_

The question pounded over and over in his mind, eating away at his sanity little by little as he stared out into the rink, chin resting in his open hands.

It was 5 am. Practice wasn't due to start for another 2 hours.

This was the time when Viktor would shine. When he was alone, without a care in the world. It was always just him and the ice.

Any normal person who would watch Viktor's training sessions when other people were around would see a goofball. A man child. A person without the slightest care in the world. Somebody who didn't take their training seriously and saw his coach's advice as old news. A child.

That's because they never saw him. They saw Viktor Nikiforov, 5 time gold medalist, the emperor of the ice. An Angel sent down from the icy heavens above. Inhuman. A beast of perfection who never took these practices seriously because there was nothing to practice.

This was Viktor Nikiforov. The epitome of perfection.

They never saw Viktor.

They never saw the man who arrived to the rink hours early to practice. They never saw the man who flubbed his quad flip six out of ten times, only to get up each time to try it again. They never saw the man who ran out of breath halfway through a sit spin. They never saw the sweat, the blood, even the tears that would stain his cheeks weekly. They never saw the man who would choke on his own sobs in the safety of his bedroom. They never saw the man who has everything in the world, yet he had nobody.

They never saw that VIktor. The eyes of the world were plagued with a disease that masked insecurities as insights, flaws as fame, grime as grandeur.

Pain as perfection.

Sometimes Viktor wished he was the Viktor Nikiforov. Sometimes the man would watch Viktor Nikiforov dance on screen, and long to be in his perfect shoes, with perfect hair, and a perfect life.

Oh how he longed to be Viktor Nikiforov. The man who was always first.

But he knew Viktor Nikiforov wasn't real.

Viktor was first too. Sometimes. He was first to piss off Yakov. Always. He was first to make a witty remark. Most of the time.

He was first to practice. Every single day.

But today he wasn't. Today he has beaten to the rink. By a newcomer. Today he had come is second.

So again, the question in his mind banged on his skull.

_"Why doesn't this irk me?"_

His cerulean eyes followed a figure in the darkness, skating about the rink in a serene silence. At first he'd been unrecognizable. Here glided a mid-sized well built man with impeccable posture, noir hair softly brushed to the side to reveal black eyes staring intently at the ice. His skin was glowing with a healthy flush from the chill, a cracked smile at his lips. Earbuds fell from his ears and ran down into the pocket of his black track jacket.

Had he not spotted the blue half-framed glasses resting on the boards, the man probably would have continued to go unidentified.

But as Viktor's eyes followed the man lazily, they fell upon said accessory, just a blob of shadow in the darkness of the room but still very much identifiable. 

And his brain put two and two together.

That man was Chocolate. The new rinkmate with horrendous posture and a reserved demeanor was the same as that skater, skating tall and strong with a confidence made of steel.

Viktor's mind almost refused him the pleasure of believing it. How could this tall glowing man be the same as the silent spectator yesterday? Surely a glow-up this drastic was impossible in such a short space of time. At least, if it were, he'd have to ask what cream he used. In the dim light that streamed through the large window behind him, his skin looked to be soft as silk. 

The room was silent, making way for only the sounds of blades scraping against the ice and the faint commute outside. He didn't know for how long he was watching Chocolate sway back and forth. His limbs had itched to skate out onto the ice, to join him in his training. But he couldn't bring himself to break the blissful silence. So he watched, the only indicator of time passing being the light that streamed through the window shifting to a warmer brighter hue. The man slowed to a stop without warning, eyes rising from his gaze at the ice to take in his surroundings. The Russian death-dropped to the ground as if his clothes were on fire and he were stopping, dropping, and rolling. His head swirled at the sudden movement after a long period of inactivity. He remained there for a while, scrunching his nose at the foul odor of the sweaty carpet desecrating his holy skin. And he listened. Listened for a shout. Listened for the sounds of ice skates approaching him. Listened for any sign that he had been discovered.

No such sounds came, and, holding his breath, he slowly rose from his position and peeked over the boards.

The room was empty, Chocolate having completely disappeared from sight. The only indicator of him ever having been there being the stray droplets of sweat glistening on the ice. His brows furrowed as he rescanned the room, searching every inch in pure confusion.

"I'm not even going to ask what the hell you're doing." A surprised yelp escaped from his lips at the sudden gruff voice as he fell over, rolling back and forth on his back before coming to a complete stop. Sighing, he let his head fall back and eyes look straight up... Into Yakov's furious glare.

"...hi."

"Get up." He snapped, stepping away to give the man ample room. Nibbling the dry coating on his lips, he slowly lugged himself to his feet, shifting to avoid Yakov's eyes like a child being reprimanded. The coach just stood there, shaking his head slowly in disappointment. "Your practice doesn't start for another two hours, what are you doing here?"

Viktor's chewing stopped and he blinked at the balding man (again not himself). "What?" Yakov slowly shook his head and sighed as he let his head fall into his hand.

"Either you somehow forgotinless than half a day or you didn't check your email last night, and I can guess which one it is." He mumbled to himself. "I moved your practice. It starts at nine now."

The room once again fell into total silence, save for the increased thrumming of Viktor's heart. Though the words had fully sunken in, it took just a bit longer for the meaning of them to make itself know. But once it did, the realization was almost overwhelming.

"WHAT?!" VIktor yelled the word in a tone 5 notches higher than he'd meant it to be, almost immediately clamping his mouth shut. His mind was a volcano of thoughts. He loved his morning practices. He adored the crisp untainted smell of fresh ice, the sound of blades leaving scratches and marks swirling around the frozen water. The slow increase in the faint sound of the morning commute not too far away. It was something he treasured. To think that it was very suddenly being taken away from him, well he refused to think about it. It was a concept that seemed so alien to him.

A small gasp from behind alerted him to a presence, and he slowly turned to see Chocolate standing just on the other side of the boards, eyes wide and jaw clenched. Viktor was dragged out of the slumps of thoughts and slapped into reality, as he was forced to meet empty charcoal eyes. He'd been discovered. His small wave and forced smile went completely disregarded.

_"Damn.. cold."_

"From now on..." Yakov butt in with an absolute disregard for Viktor's attempt at a greeting. "...I expect you here at 8:30 am sharp. No exceptions."

Immediately upon hearing the militaristic tone,the Russian's posture straightened, and he turned his head and gave a curt nod, all hints of his usual amiable demeanor now swallowed with the rare appearance of seriousness.

"I understand." He muttered just loud enough so Yakov could hear, keeping it just out of Chocolate's earshot. His lips aching with a forced smile, he turned and walked towards the benches without another word.Yakov eyed him.

"You're not going home?" He asked, coming an eyebrow. Another blow to Viktor's happiness. Still, fighting to keep is bright mask on, he smiled.

"Do you mind if I stay?

"That's not up to me." Yakov muttered, turning to face Chocolate, who was back in the loop of skating laps around the rink. It seems like the gazes caught his attention, and he looked up only to dart his gaze back down to the rink almost immediately. The walls that held Viktor's smile crumbled, and he lowered his gaze as well. 

Yakov noticed this, and pursed his lips, crossing his arms and falling into thought. This would not do. No this would not do at all.

~~~

Yuri grunted in frustration as his shoulder collided with the ice, knocking the breath out of his lungs in an abrupt blow. A shrill chill creeped up his limbs as he layer there, panting. Growling, he bit the inside of his mouth once more, taking satisfaction at the slight sting and the taste of a droplet of blood. What had started out as an accidental occurrence had now become an anxious habit of his that, though he was sure it wasn't the best thing ever, was now done without a second thought to its name. Yuri stared up at the ceiling, disregarding the dampness of his clothes or his blond hair resting against the ice or the skaters that passed by. He layer there, and listened, continuing to chew on his mouth lining. And he thought. Thought about his failure. Thought about how fall. Thou get about how he just couldn't seem to land this jump. The thoughts were overwhelming, and he yelled out in frustration, pressing his palms to his eyes and watching the swirls of color swarm in the darkness.

"GAH why can't I do this?!" He burst, not caring that he drew the attention of everybody around him. Why should he care? They were all adults, didn't they have other....adult...things to be working on? They could surely ignore him, and though this was what his mind pushed for, the thought was almost saddening.

It was very quickly replaced by a replay of his each and every falls, followed by a disappointed look from both Yakov and Lillia, who, though he'd never admit it, he'd grown quite fond of. 

These thoughts were suffocating, they were, and doubt began to swallow him up.

Yuri wouldn't consider himself an anxious guy; in fact he'd probably beat up anybody who called him such. His pride was his confidence; he knew he could make it to any final, and he knew he could win. It was these thoughts that drove him forward, pushed him to try and go through the hours of tortuous practicing and repetition. This was Yuri Plisetsky. The Russian Punk. The ice tiger. The all confident teenage ice skating prodigy.

And his mind was at war with itself.

He hadn't landed a jump all week; and for that, he blamed the newcomer.

The newbie, who he absolutely refused to refer to as the name agreed upon, threw everything off balance. Before there had been 4 skaters: Him, Viktor, Mila, and Georgi. Four. Even number. A perfect square. What wasn't there to like?

But now there were five, and he hated it. he Hated having less rink space; he hated having to share his practice with yet ANOTHER person. They'd been perfect before, and now that perfection was going to be tainted. It was change, and he despised every aspect of it.

Grunting, he swung his legs forward and sat up, tugging the hairband from his wrist. His hair. That's what it was. It was distracting him, that's all. He could land this jump, no problem. Immediately the world became multiple shades brighter at the absence of hair covering his eye. A shallow satisfaction washed over him as he rose to his feet, wiping the forming beads of sweat from his forehead and eyeing the ice in front of him. He could do this, couldn't he? Just a triple flip. Easy. Landed multiple times before.

His glare began to wander from the gray surface of the ice to anything around it. The slices in the surface. The blades of the skaters around him. The skaters themselves.

His eyes landed on one in particular, standing parallel to him, and his expressing deepened. There he was, the man that had become the bane of his existence for the past two days. He was staring ahead at the now-emptying rink, he's focused on the free space before him. His skate twitched, and Yuri noticed his stance was that of one who was about to attempt a jump. Narrowing his eyes, he forced himself to look away. 

_"I'm better than him. There's no way I'm going to let a...a... a pig beat me."_ And he entered a state of mind that he hadn't entered in seeming;y forever, though really it had only been just a week. The world faded away, and it was just him and the ice. Him and the rink. The air crisp like a fresh apple. The problems that plagued humanity nonexistent. In his head, the chords of the song he was to skate to echoed like faint footsteps in an empty mansion.

And he listened. And listened. And listened.

His foot inched to push off, to feel the exhilaration of gliding on ice. Still, he waited.

Somewhere besides him, the breath of skates moving against ice broke through the silence. His eyes snapped open, arms he pushed off.

Speed? Good. Trajectory? Good. Feelings in general? Awesome.

He spotted the gouge in the ice where he decided he'd launch, and began to prepare himself, lifting his leg and whirling so he was skating backwards.

It was at that moment that his breath began to falter, and not from exhaustion. Thoughts of 'what if's'began to swarm inside of him like bees, attacking his every move.

' _What if I fall again?'_

_'What if I get hurt?'_

' _What if I fail?'_

...

' _Then he wins.'_

Yuri took off.

~~~

The second Yakov opened his mouth to call that practice was over, he was off the ice, undoing his laces and slinging his skates over his back without so much of another word. He didn't make it far this time; he'd only stepped one foot out the door before he was yanked back, unnecessarily aggressively. A yelp escaped his lips, and he whirled quickly to glare at his kidnapper, only to be taken aback when it was no one other than Yuri who had restrained him. The blond's glare was focused somewhere else, his face drawn into a scowl. His face immediately grew hot with embarrassment.

"Oi." He muttered loudly, expression unchanging. "Viktor wanted me to tell you that we're going out to eat afterwards and he wants you to come with us." The words fell out of his mouth in a jumbled mess. "Viktor's words, not mine. He wouldn't shut up about it." He snapped quickly after, as if hoping it would make a point. Chocolate's eyes rose to glare at the man behind him, who was staring at the two intently. The platinum haired man turned away quickly upon noticing his gaze, sloppily occupying himself with his nails in a half-axed effort to seem occupied. Chocolate shook his head slowly.

"Why didn't he ask me himself?"

"I don't know, he was probably too shy or some shi-..." Yuri trailed off, snapping his head to stare at the man, eyes wide. "So you aren't mute!"The words had been soft, so quiet they could have been drowned by a small gust of wind. But they were there. And they had been heard.

...

And that was it apparently. Pulling his arm from the teen's grasp, he walked out without saying another word. Yuri just stood there, letting himself get accustomed to the shock. The outside was calm, but his brain was a hurricane of questions and emotions. And in that eye of the hurricane, there was one specific thought that wouldn't stop nagging at him, even as slowly turned and began walking back towards the bouncing man.

_"Why me?"_

"Tell me tell me tell me!" Viktor whined, shaking the boy's shoulders with a fervor that was slightly concerning. "Is he coming?" Yuri opened his mouth to answer, but caught on his words. Why did he care? So what if he had spoken. He was a person after all. That's what people do; they talk.

This one had just happened to talk for the first time in their presence. And to him, nonetheless. It slightly irked him, the one man he wanted to have a rivalry, and already partially did, the one man who had indirectly pushed him to land his first successful jump of the week, was the one man who had just spoken to him for the first goddamn time.

_"Dammit how am I supposed to hate him now?"_

"Uhh....Yuri?" Viktor's annoying voice broke through his thoughts, and he frowned.

"He said no."He muttered simply before walking off, refusing to wait for Viktor's answer. Said man made it known to him anyways, trailing behind like a puppy.

"Did you even try? You have to ask more than once, you know that, rig—" Viktor's trailed off as he considered Yuri's words. "Wait..he said no?'

Yuri had already stormed out of the room without bothering to reply.


End file.
